


Do I Want More

by oneshotsbygabby



Category: The Bronze (2015)
Genre: Artist Reader, Blow Jobs, But Not Much, Comic Book Artist Reader, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Dates, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Sex, Love Confessions, Making Love, Maybe A Little Plot, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, catching feelings, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-01 03:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17859425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneshotsbygabby/pseuds/oneshotsbygabby
Summary: You’re fuck buddies with Lance Tucker, but after a night of passionate sex, he realizes he wants more. That can’t be right…can it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw The Bronze last year and loved it, but I kind of just put it aside because I was into the MCU really hard. But I’ve been addicted to Lance Tucker/Reader fics lately and wanted to try writing one of my own. This is the first part of a series, and I am actually really satisfied with the way it turned out. I'm a little nervous, considering it’s my first time writing Lance, but I think I did okay.

When you came home, he was waiting in the hall of your apartment building.

It had surprised you. You and Lance had had a friends-with-benefits relationship for the last couple of years. Neither of you remained monogamous to one another -- everybody knew that Lance Tucker couldn't be tied down to _anyone_ , and he continued to bring home bimbo after bimbo for one-night stands, and you...well, your career was taking off and you just didn't have time to date anymore.

So, you were fuck buddies.

It didn't bother you that he didn't want to be monogamous. To be honest, _if_ you were going to be monogamous to anyone, it _wouldn't_ be Lance Tucker. He was an ass. He was egocentric, misogynistic, a complete and total douchebag, and had the ego to match. A lot of people were surprised you'd hung around him as much as you had.

"What are you doing here, Tucker?" you ask him as you unlock your apartment door. Without being asked, he follows you inside.

"Thought you might want to fool around a little with me tonight. Unless you're busy?"

You shook your head, "I don't have much going on these days."

He cocks an eyebrow, but you try to ignore it. You were waiting for him to say something.

The silence lasted longer than you thought it was going to, so you just shake your head and go into the kitchen. You decided to make a salad because the lettuce was about to go bad, and even though you'd been on your own for a while, you were never the world's greatest cook.

Finally, the silence was aggravating you, so you snap, "Just say it, will you?"

"Nothing to say. Just can't believe a hottie like you doesn't have someone at least propositioning you."

You laugh. "I do," you say, pulling a bowl of lettuce out of the refrigerator. "I mean, you're here, aren't you?"

He shrugs.

Even though you and Lance are fuck buddies, he tends to hang out at your place. You're sleeping together, yeah, but the two of you are friends. He comes over and hangs out at your apartment, and you go to the bar together sometimes, and last week, when a co-worker had invited you to a big party, he had even gone with you to give you his honest opinion about a dress. Now, clothes shopping wasn't his favorite thing in the world, but after you came home, the two of you always went to the bedroom and you made it up to him.

You make a grilled chicken salad a lot bigger than what you can eat and are surprised when he takes some as well.

You had been around Lance so long that you had changed your diet so he wouldn't bitch about you eating carbs. He often told you it was because you shouldn't subject your body to all the things that were in junk, but you also knew that it was because he mooched off you more often than not. It was actually ridiculous, once you thought about it; he was a silver and gold Olympic medalist, for God's sake, and he was one of the top gymnastics coaches in the entire country. He made money; he had more money than he knew what to do with most of the time, but he tended to be over at your apartment more than he was at his own place.

You sit at the dining room table and there's a heavy silence that overcomes you. Part of you isn't very sure that he came over _just_ for a booty call.

"Tucker, what's going on here?" you ask, watching him carefully. "I mean, why are you here _really_?"

He just shrugs.

And you know this man. You know that he's not gonna open up to you, not without you forcing him, and even then, Lance Tucker doesn't show his soft side to anyone -- not even you. You just roll your eyes and finish your dinner.

Once the dishes are in the kitchen sink, he pushes you up against the wall in the hallway leading to your bedroom. You knew this was coming; even when Lance comes over for dinner or to hang out and watch really bad reality television, the night usually ends with the two of you naked in your bed.

And _God_ , could this man kiss. I mean, he didn't get the name Lance 'the Fucker' Tucker for no reason, right? But even with all that, and knowing how much sexual prowess the man had, it still surprised you when he kissed you, because _Jesus Christ_ , the man could kiss, and he tasted fucking _amazing_.

He cups the back of your head, teasing and nipping at your lips with his own. When he slides his tongue across your lower lip, you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. He's so good with his tongue, and soon, the two of you are making out like a couple of horny teenagers.

You finally break the kiss to breathe, and his hands are trailing down your body, to travel under your shirt. You feel his body up against yours, and his hands are trailing the smooth skin of your tummy. His mouth attacks your neck, and you moan out at the feeling of his lips on your skin.

"No marks, Tucker," you moan out, because you know that it would just look bad if you had hickeys, especially since you had to be a professional adult and it would just look tacky. "At least none where people can easily see them."

He smirks against your skin and then he cups your ass, pressing your body against his tightly as he says, "Don't worry, baby. Nobody will even notice them."

You push him into your bedroom, and he retaliates by pushing you down onto your queen-sized bed. It only takes a moment for him to start removing your clothes, and then his follow suit. They end up in a pile on your bedroom floor.

He nips and kisses his way down your body, and all while he's doing this, he's talking to you. If there's anything that gets you off quickly, it's dirty talk and the fact that Lance Tucker definitely knows _how_ to do it. A lot of guys tend to try to do it, but they are so God-awful at it that you just want to gag them. Not Lance, however.

"I've been longing for this," he says to you, kissing his way down your stomach. "Longing to taste you again, to feel your legs on my shoulders, to make you come." You moan loudly as he leaves open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs, and then he looks up at you with those stormy eyes of his, "You want me to taste you, Y/N?"

"Oh _God_ ," you moan out. He chuckles at that.

"You want it, you'll have to let me know," he murmurs as he brings his fingers to your cunt. "How can I give you what you want if you don't tell me what it is?" You whimper, and he smirks, obviously pleased with himself. "Do you want me to go down on you? Do you want me to taste you, to make you come with my fingers and tongue?"

You whimper again, and he says, "Come on, Y/N. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. But I need you to use your words."

"Yes, please," you moan out. "Please eat me out, make me come. I need you so bad."

You notice the look on his face and part of you wants to slap the bastard. You know that he's satisfied that he can make you fall apart like this, but the other part of you wants him to make you come so much that it doesn't matter.

As he licks a stripe up your slit, you let out a groan as you weave your fingers into his hair. God, he feels so amazing, and his tongue and mouth can do some pretty tantalizing things. It doesn't take very long as he eats you out in earnest when he enters you with two fingers and licks at your clit.

"Be a good girl for me, Y/N," he says, when he tears his mouth away from you, "and come. I want to feel you tighten on my fingers; I want you to come on my face. Show me how much you love this."

He quirks his fingers to deliciously rub at your g-spot and you can tell you're close. Your body is starting to shake, and you know that your orgasm is so very close. He seems to sense this when he takes your clit in-between his lips and sucks on it. That's when you fall apart.

You let out a scream as you come around his fingers, and are surprised when, after you start to come down from your high, you look at Lance, who's looking up at you, and you notice the juices all over his face.

"How do I make you feel, sugar?" he asked, and you roll your eyes. He really _is_ a cocky bastard, but you'll give him this much -- he fucking _knows_ what he's doing.

After getting your breath back, you move over on the bed and he sits down beside you and look up at him coyly as you get on your knees. Lance has one of the nicest cocks you've ever seen in your life, very attractive and on the larger side of average. You love the way it feels inside of you, the way it fills you, but right now, the one thing you want more than anything else is to have it in your mouth.

You keep your eyes on his own as you lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and let out a self-satisfied smirk when you actually _feel_ the shudder leave his body. "You like this, sweetheart?" you ask him flirtatiously. "You want more?"

"Fuck yeah, Y/N," he groans out as his fingers tangle in your hair. You don't mind a little hair-pulling -- in fact, you love it just on the edge of pain during sex -- so you don't say anything, you just take him into your mouth and hum around his length. You take him down as far as you can without gagging, until he's hitting the back of your throat, and start to massage his balls as you do so. He lets out a groan.

"Fuck yeah, Y/N, I love your mouth so much, you're so fuckin' good at sucking me off, sugar, I love it," he rambles as you put just enough pressure on the underside of his dick under the head with your tongue that he gets to rambling again. You know he's loving every bit of this.

It doesn't take very long until he's pulling at your hair to try to pull you off of him, and then, when you're not complying with him, he grits out, "Shit, Y/N, pull off, I'm gonna fuckin' come!"

You pull off him, grinning as you do so, and jack his dick a couple of times before asking, "You like that, baby?"

He groans, "Oh yeah. But right now, I wanna fuck you stupid."

You grin. "Have a way to go to get to stupid, but you're welcome to try, sweetheart." You reach into your nightstand drawer and pull out a condom, ripping the foil packet open with your teeth. You roll the rubber down his length and lean up to kiss him.

You can taste yourself on his mouth, and it's incredibly erotic. You push him down so he's on the bed on his back and then straddle his thighs. 

You lower yourself down onto his length slowly, feeling the stretch as he fills you. It feels fucking _incredible_ and you let out a low moan as he fills you. You lean down and kiss him once more.

He tries to thrust up into you right away, but you shake your head. "Hold on just a minute," you grit out, trying to take a few moments to adjust. He grips his hands on your hips, and you lean down to kiss him again.

You start moving, slowly, and your hands go up to massage your breasts. He feels so good, and you pinch and pull on your nipples. It feels so good from more than one angle and you're loving the way he feels inside of you, and the words that are leaving his mouth are just getting you closer and closer.

"You're so fuckin' tight, Y/N," he groans out, and you know it's not going to take much longer for you to come. He watches you through hooded eyes and you take a few deep breaths, knowing that orgasm is _right there_.

"I'm so close, Y/N, I'm gonna come. I know you're close, too, so come on and come for me," he groans out. "Come on, come on my cock, sugar. I wanna feel you."

You love it when he rambles during sex because he's always so put together and to find him lose himself during the moment of passion just makes you feel incredibly smug. He removes his hand from your hip as he thumbs your clit, and you're so close, you're climbing that high and you're gonna come...

"Come for me, sugar," he pleads, and you let out a low groan as you come around him. It doesn't take very long before he's coming inside the condom, and you collapse on top of his body with his dick still inside you.

"You feel so good, sugar," he groans out as he starts running his fingers through your hair. Something about this whole scenario is off-putting, because he _never_ gets soft and cuddly after sex. You're so close to sleep, and he senses this, so he rolls you over so you're lying on your side in the bed, and he kisses you on the forehead softly and says, "Sleep well, baby."

You're asleep by the time he reaches into your dresser where you keep extra sweats for him just for times like this and pulls a pair on. That's when it hits him -- he doesn't want to leave you after sex. And he'd spent nights over at your place before, that wasn't the issue here. The issue was that he didn't just want to fuck you, he didn't just want to hang out with you anymore. He wanted more.

What the hell was going on with him?


	2. Chapter 2

He was snappy. For some reason, every time Lance opened his mouth, something nasty came out of it. Well, maybe not _just_ for some reason. He knew exactly what his problem was.

He had left you this morning, sleeping soundly in bed, when he went into his gym to work with a few clients. There was a girl who was going to go all the way, he was sure of it. Lance had a routine, and even though he had laid in bed a little longer than usual, it didn't put him off his schedule too much.

This wasn't the first night he'd stayed in your apartment. Most of the time, however, he only stayed because he was worn out from several rounds of sex, but this time, he just wanted to stay with you.

"Chrissy, do it again! And keep your fucking feet together!" he snapped at the poor girl. He almost felt bad for yelling at her like he had all day, but really, how hard was it for her to remember to keep her goddamn feet together?

"Sorry, Coach," she mumbled as she tried the move again, for the fourth time.

Lance had been caught up in his own head. It's happened all damn day. At noon, after Chrissy was done with her session, he closed the gym and decided to go see you. It was Saturday, and you didn't work today, so he decided he was going to invite you to lunch.

That morning, you had busied yourself by cleaning your apartment, mostly to get Lance out of your mind. You weren't sure how much of last night was memory and how much was a dream. Hell, it _felt_ like a dream. After getting out of the shower that morning, you went into your bedroom to gather some clothes, but stopped in your tracks when you noticed.

Lance was in your room, lounging on your bed. It shouldn't have surprised you -- when he knew that you were home, he would just come in, and he also knew that you didn't leave the apartment on Saturdays unless you had something important to do. Shaking the thoughts out of your head, you shrugged at his appearance and decided to just get dressed.

"What are you doing here?" you ask him as you go over and open your dresser. "Didn't get enough last night?"

He smirks at you and then replies, "I thought we could go out to lunch."

You pull out some clothes and then drop your towel. The fact that Lance is here doesn't deter you; he'd seen you naked countless times over the last two years, so it wasn't a big deal. You try to ignore the way he's staring at you and licking his lips as you pull on your jeans and slip a t-shirt over your head.

"Is there something you're buttering me up for?" you ask him hesitantly. Usually, Lance only wants to go to lunch with you on a Saturday because he wants something.

He shakes his head, "Nope. Grab your shoes, I want to take you to lunch."

You shrug and grab your sneakers. You put them on and grab your purse and jacket as you follow him out of the apartment.

There was a small café not that far from your apartment that had pretty good food that you and Lance frequented, and you got a table there and sat across from one another in a booth. A few moments passed as you studied his face.

"What's going on, Tucker?" you ask him. There's something up, you just know it, and you want answers. "When's the last time you took me to lunch just for the hell of it, and not because you wanted something?"

"I'm not allowed to take my best friend to lunch, is that what you're saying?" he asked, and is that hurt on his face?

"That's _not_ what I'm saying," you huff. Then you pause to go over his words, "Wait... _I'm_ your best friend?"

He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant. "I'm around you more than anybody else, except for my girls," he states, watching you closely. "I've known you since college, Y/N. The only true relationship I've ever kept up."

You shrug.

It wasn't until your food was at your table that you sigh and say, "Are you sure there's nothing on your mind? I mean, the Lance Tucker I know would _never_ be afraid to tell me what's on his mind."

"I don't fucking know," he sighed after a moment. "I've been having...thoughts. And things."

You cock your head to the side and watch him carefully. "I know you're speaking English right now, but I'm...confused," you say slowly. "You wanna elaborate?"

"Never mind," he says, taking the last bite of his lunch. You're still super-confused but decide to drop it.

After throwing a few bills on the table, you and Lance get up and go back to your apartment. You're not sure why he's hanging out with you today but decide not to question it. Even though Lance Tucker can be a real dick, a lot of the time you're just way happier not knowing why he does the things he does.

As soon as you're inside your apartment, he pushes you up against the door once it's closed, and you grasp the back of his neck, twirling your fingers in the short hairs at the base of his neck. You stare at one another for a few brief moments before he leans down and captures your lips with his own.

God, he feels so good. His hands fly to your hips, and he grips them almost painfully tight as his tongue slides across your lower lip, silently asking for access. Tilting your head, you open your mouth, granting him the access he desires, and moans as he thrusts his tongue into your mouth. He massages your tongue with his own and your other arm flies up so that both of your arms are encircling him, wrapped around his neck.

"Wrap your legs around me, baby," he whispers against your mouth, so you do so, and he carries you into your bedroom, dropping you unceremoniously on your bed. You land with a bounce, just watching him for a brief moment until he tears his t-shirt up and over his head.

Even though you know Lance is an athlete, he's always been an athlete, it still takes your breath away to look at him. You see the predatory look in his eyes as he watches you, and then he starts stalking towards you.

You remove your jacket, just watching him, and he leans down to capture your mouth with his once again. He pushes you against the mattress, lying you down, and covers your body with his own. His hands go to land on either side of your head and he's exploring your mouth with his own.

The two of you lie there and make out for what seems like both forever and not a long time at all. It feels like fifteen minutes; it feels like an hour. You're not sure exactly _how_ much time passes before he shifts his weight to his knees on the bed and starts to hoist your t-shirt up and over your head.

There's something different about this time. Sex with Lance has always been different -- there have been times it had been experimental, there had been times it had been adventurous, and there had even been times that it had been sensual. But slow and sweet? That almost _never_ happens.

Along with the heavy make-out session, your clothes start to disappear. Once the two of you are naked, he leans down and starts kissing his way down your body. His lips feel so good on you, and you clutch at his hair as he leans down to leave kisses along your abdomen and stomach.

"Your skin tastes so good, baby girl," he murmurs against your skin before starting to venture south. "But I want to taste your pussy. Do you want me to taste you?"

You groan out a reply.

"You always taste so sweet," he says, pushing your legs further apart so he can slip down between them. "I love eating your pussy, I love the way you writhe underneath me. Do you want me to eat you out, baby?"

Another moan leaves your mouth, and when his fingers go to your center, sliding them in your wetness without penetrating you, he looks at you. "I need you to say it, sweetness," he murmurs, hovering over but not _quite_ touching your center, his eyes never leaving yours. "C'mon, pretty girl, use your words. Tell me what you want me to do ."

"I want your mouth on me," you moan out, writhing against the sheets, one hand in Lance's hair and the other fisted in the sheet right above your head. "Please."

"Like this?" he asks, leaving nips and open-mouthed kisses on your stomach. "Or maybe somewhere...better?"

You can feel his smirk against your skin, knowing that he's not only teasing you but he's getting off on it. Part of you wants to yell at him for teasing you the way he is, but the other part just wants to feel his body on yours and is willing to endure his playfulness.

"My cunt, Lance. Please, eat my pussy."

He smirks as he leans down to lick a stripe up your slit before he enters your center with two of his thick fingers. His mouth feels amazing on you as always, but this instance is different than the others have been. In the past times, when you'd been with Lance, he was all about bringing you pleasure, yes, but the way he went about it was completely out of the ordinary. Something about this time sparked a feeling deep in your gut, because he wasn't _just_ bringing you pleasure, he wasn't _just_ eating you out, he was being exploratory about it.

You weren't a hundred percent sure what was going on. As his tongue dipped inside your cunt, you tried to suppress a moan and lean your head back against the sheets, your hand entwined in his dark hair while his head was buried between your legs.

You had been with Lance several times over the last couple of years. The two of you had known each other many years, but the fuck buddy relationship you had with one another had only been going on for about two. Even with that, the two of you had engaged in some fantastic sex, but this was different.

He was moving slowly, sensually, and tender. He was eating you out in earnest, penetrating your center with two of his thick fingers as he lapped at your clit. He was making moans of his own, as if you're the best thing he's ever tasted and couldn't get enough of it.

"You're so sweet, baby girl," he murmurs against you. "You taste so fucking good. I could fucking eat your pussy all the time and never get enough."

His words send a shiver through your body and you remove your fingers from his hair to grasp at the sheets on the other side of your body. You grip them so tightly that your knuckles are starting to turn white, and you can feel your orgasm start to crest. You're so close you can practically taste it, and Lance senses this, because, without removing his mouth from your flesh, his gaze snaps up to look you in the eye and he says, "Come for me, baby. I know you're close; I can feel it. Show me how much you love what I'm doing to you. Come all over my face; I wanna taste you."

His words send a spark throughout your body and he puts his tongue back on your clit, licking you without abandon, and your back arches involuntarily as you come. The orgasm is so intense, it's almost like you black out for just a second, and when you open your eyes again after your breathing evens out, you're surprised to see his mouth and chin all wet from your juices.

He leans up and kisses you, and you taste yourself on his lips. It's so erotic, and you love the way you taste on his skin. He pauses to reach inside your nightstand and pull out a foil packet. He tears open the foil with his teeth and rolls the condom down his length, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I need to be inside you right now, baby," he says, somewhat as an apology. You know why he's saying it; you usually go down on him because you love the way he tastes and the way he feels in your mouth, but you're so incoherent at the moment that you're not sure you would be able to do that for him right now, anyway.

He lifts one of your legs and places your calf on his shoulder, leaning down to kiss you once again, and guides the blunt head of his dick inside your body. Your back arches involuntarily because it just feels so damn good and once he's bottomed out inside of you, he pauses to give you time to adjust to his size.

"Damn, sugar, you feel so fucking good," he growls against your lips. "I fucking love the way you feel around me. You're so goddamned _tight_."

He's fucking into you, slow and deep, and feels absolutely _incredible_. You wrap your arms around him, your hands going down to grip his back. He hisses lightly as your nails run down his skin, and you know that, even though you're trying to be careful, he probably is going to have marks later.

He leans down and leaves kisses and nips on your neck as he starts to thrust into you a little more roughly. He's still being incredibly gentle, but you can feel your orgasm start to approach again. After licking two of his fingers, he starts rubbing your clit in tight circles, like he can tell just how close you are.

"Come on, baby, I know you're close," he murmurs, kissing you on the lips once again. His fingers are rubbing faster on your clit and you can feel yourself tighten around him. He groans.

"Come for me, Y/N. Please, I wanna feel you come around me. _Please_ ," he groans out, and that's not something you hear come from Lance's mouth very often. The man doesn't beg for _anyone_.

Your hands tighten on his back and he hisses in pleasure. You're so close and you start to ramble. You're not even sure what you're saying, you just know there are words leaving your mouth. You're getting closer and closer, you're gonna come, you can feel it...

You let out a scream as you come around his length, and he can't take it; he comes right after you do, filling the condom. It takes the breath right out of him, and he pretty much collapses right on your body, giving him a few minutes to get his breath to even out, until you're pushing him off you.

"Ugh, you're heavy, Tucker," you groan, and he chuckles before rolling over so he's next to you. He removes the condom, tying it off and throws it in the trash bin you keep by the bed. You rearrange yourself so you're lying in the bed, a pillow under your head, and are very surprised when you feel Lance's body curl around yours so he's spooning you.

You're confused. This _never_ happens. When you and Lance fuck, it's always get in, fuck, get out. It's never soft like this and you have no clue what the fuck is even going on. You want to question him about it, but when you turn your head to look at him, his eyes are closed, and you can tell he's already asleep.

You're not one hundred percent sure _what_ is going through his head, but, as you close your eyes and lean your head back, you think you could totally get used to this.


	3. Chapter 3

When Lance entered your apartment a week later, you were sitting at the dining room table with sketches all around you. You had managed to nab a job as an illustrator for a major comic book and had a deadline coming up. You rub a hand over your face as you hear the front door close and the call of his voice, "Honey, I'm home!"

You'd known Lance since college, so it'd been several years since he actually knocked before entering your apartment. He came into the dining room and looked at you, studying you while you studied your sketches.

As he stands over you, your head snaps up to look at him. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Friday night," he said, in a way of explanation. When you gave him a blank look, he sighed and decided to elaborate, "I thought we could go out and do something tonight."

You shook your head. "Can't," you sigh. "I've got several sketches due tomorrow afternoon. I can't go out tonight."

He reaches over to smooth over the papers and looks at your sketches. He takes a seat next to you at the table and says, "These are good, Y/N."

You smile, "Thanks, Tucker. There's still something off about this one." You hold up the paper that's in front of you. "I don't know what it is. The outlining, maybe? It just doesn't look like it's supposed to."

"You had dinner yet?" he asks you suddenly. When your gaze snaps up there's a blank look on your face and so he repeats the question. After he does, you shake your head.

"No," you answer. "I've been busy."

"Please tell me you've eaten today," he shoots you a look. You know _exactly_ why he's asking you that. When you get super-stressed or super-busy, you skip meals or forget to eat altogether. Nothing pisses Lance off more than when you ignore your own needs like that.

You nod. "Yeah. Had lunch at eleven."

"And tell me it was more than an apple, Y/N." You shoot a look his way, but you don't blame him; you've done that before. So, you sigh.

"Yeah, I went to Mario's. Had a slice of pizza."

"Good," he answers. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he says to you, "It's almost eight. I'm gonna make you something. You need to keep meals in your system."

"Tuck, you don't have to --" you start, but as he shakes his head you realize that you probably shouldn't argue with him. Nothing good has ever come from arguing with Lance Tucker -- he barrels on and does whatever the fuck he wants to anyway.

"Tell me you've at least got groceries in here," he says as he walks into your kitchen. The kitchen and the dining room are separated only by a doorway, so he can look into the dining room to see what you're doing, and he does so occasionally. After looking in your refrigerator and then your cupboards, he starts to pull things out.

"You had pizza, and that's way too many carbs, so I'm going to make you something light on them," he explains, even though you hadn't even asked. You know that he's going to be talking to you to fill the silence, because Lance _hates_ dead silence, even though you actually thrive on it when you're working. Going over to the freezer, he sighs and then pulls out some fish and then a few vegetables. You have no clue what he's going to make, but Lance is an excellent cook, so you just let it go.

"I thought Friday was often cheat day for you, Tucker," you comment, picking your pencil up again before starting to shade in one of your pictures. He nods.

"Yeah, but I haven't had a cheat day in almost six months," he says proudly. "I'm on a roll."

You laugh quietly. You can see the satisfaction written all over his face, and you actually feel really good for him. He's worked hard on his diet for years, and you knew that not having one in that long was a real accomplishment for him.

Lance leaves you alone for the next half hour. You're putting the finishing touches on your final sketch as he places a plate in front of you.

"Looks good, Tuck, thanks," you smile. Now that there's food in front of you, you realize how hungry you are. As Lance places a glass of lemonade in front of you, you take a bite of your meal.

"This is terrific," you say, and he grins. He sits down beside you as you watch him, chewing slowly. Once you swallowed, you add, "You've gotten so much better at this since college."

He grins brightly. "Thanks, Y/N," he answers. "I've been on my own a long time."

You nod.

The two of you pass the meal in light conversation as Lance starts to tell you how his girls are doing and how proud he was of all the hard work they'd been doing to get better. You knew there was a competition coming up in a few months and the girls had been working so hard to prepare for it.

After dinner was over, you take your dishes out to the kitchen and put them in the sink. You go back over to the dining room table to look over your sketches, and you can feel Lance behind you. He wraps his arms around your stomach and kisses your shoulder.

"How do they look?" you ask him, looking for his honest opinion. "I mean, really? Do you think they look okay?"

"Y/N, I've always loved your drawings. You're talented, whether you believe me or not."

You had met Lance in college, when you and your sister had a history class with him. You had a twin sister, Samantha, who was almost half an hour younger than yourself, and you had always been overprotective of her, looking at her like a younger sister when the fact of the matter was that you two were twins.

With that class, you had been grouped up to do a project, and you and Sam had been partnered up with Lance. While he'd spent the entire three weeks hitting on Sam and trying to get into her pants, she'd just laughed at him. They became pretty close, and then, after the project was over, they were practically joined at the hip. Lance had made it his mission to use the worst pick-up lines on Sam to see if he'd ever get her to crumble. It never worked.

The fact that Lance and Samantha were so close to one another made you get more exposure to him as well. Your sister had always been the pretty and popular one while you were just the artistic nerd. You loved your sketchbooks and you loved sitting on the sidelines to observe and had spent a lot of time in the gymnasium. Both Lance and your sister were on the gymnastics teams, and you would sit in there on the bleachers and you'd often have your sketchbook out and sketch.

You knew next to nothing about gymnastics. You knew that Sam had always loved the sport, but you had never been an athlete and you'd never been interested in sports. You wanted to just sit on the sidelines and draw your little heart out. Sam had asked you to sit in on her practices, though, because she wanted to know what it looked like to someone who didn't know anything about the specifics of the sport. So, you'd sit in there and just sketch.

The girl's and boy's gymnastics teams practiced at different times, and Lance had often showed up during the girl's time just to watch. Okay, so the scantily clad outfits helped, because, let's face it, he'd always been a horndog, but he often sat next to you and watched you draw while he was sitting in on the practices.

The first time Lance had seen your drawings, you'd been embarrassed. It wasn't because you thought you were terrible, and it definitely _wasn't_ because your sketchbooks were full of sketches of him, either -- the only reason for that was because he was aesthetically pleasing. You didn't have a crush on him; you'd _never_ had a crush on Lance Tucker. After all, he was Lance _the Fucker_ Tucker, and you wanted no part of that.

So, he continued to use terrible pick-up lines on both you and your sister, and, without realizing it, you and Lance grew to be friends. The flirting had been an inside joke for what seemed like forever, until Sam met her now-husband, and then it had to stop because he was self-conscious -- he didn't think there was any way he could compete with Lance. But the two of you kept it going.

And then, two years ago, your dynamic started to change. You were in-between relationships and super-horny, and he had said he was tired of one-night stands but still wanted to fool around. You didn't think a friends-with-benefits relationship could hurt your friendship in any way, and for two whole years, you'd had this relationship with him, and things were going terrifically.

"I don't know," you answer him. "There's just something about them..."

Turning your body around, he pressed up against you and tilted your chin with two of his fingers. "They're spectacular, Y/N," he answered you. "You need to believe me. But, if I'd have to guess, you've been working on them for days. Am I right?"

You nod. "Yeah," you admitted, even though you weren't sure you should. If Lance knew that you'd been working on these drawings all week long, he'd force you to take a break -- which was what actually happened.

You bridged the gap between your body and Lance's, and you leave a kiss on his lips. He tilted his head just right so he could deepen the kiss, and that's just what he did. His arms moved to your hips where he gripped you tightly, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He felt terrific against your body and you loved the way he felt, his body hard but soft next to yours.

You broke apart to take a few breaths, and that's when he cupped your cheek and gently leaned back in. The kiss this time was both gentle but rough at the same time, which was a weird controversy, but he felt phenomenal against you.

His hands smoothed down your body to cup your ass, and you groaned against his skin. He squeezed your ass and your grip on him tightened a little.

"Wrap your legs around my hips, baby girl," he murmured against your lips, and you jumped up so you could do so. He caught you and held onto you so you could capture his lips with your own one more time, and he carried you into your bedroom.

He set you down on your feet in the middle of your bedroom, and, breaking the kiss, you both started to shed your clothes. You didn't want to separate from his lips for too long, so in-between shedding your clothes, you always found his lips again with yours.

Once the two of you were completely naked, you left a chaste kiss on his lips before dropping to your knees. You loved the way Lance felt and tasted, and were determined to go down on him, since the last time you'd been together he hadn't let you. Jacking his cock a couple of times, you look up into his stormy eyes, where you noticed they were lust-blown, and you licked your lips.

You lean down and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock even though you're still looking up into his eyes and he gripped your hair tightly. "Oh fuck, sugar," he moaned out. "Feels so fucking good."

When Lance can't even let out a coherent sentence you know you're doing something right. Taking him down as far as you can comfortably, you swallow him down until he's hitting the back of your throat. You love the way he tastes as you swallow around him.

His fingers itched to grip you more roughly, but you knew he didn't want to force you, although you weren't sure why. You and Lance had had some really terrific rough sex before, and that's what you wanted now, so you pull off with a soft pop and look deep into his stormy eyes.

"I want you to fuck my mouth, Tucker. Be rough with me -- that's what I want right now. Please."

He nods and feeds you his dick as he pulls on your hair so you're taking him further and further each time. He starts to thrust his hips and you love it. With one hand you cup his balls, rolling and massaging them and he lets out another groan.

Lance is saying many things, but a lot of the words leaving his mouth are rambles. You're not a hundred percent sure of everything he's saying, mostly because he's starting to lose his composure and he throws his head back as you swallow around his length.

"Shit, so fucking close, sugar," he moans. "You better pull off."

You do so, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock once more before pulling off and catching his gaze with your own. He untangles his fingers from your hair and smiles down at you.

"Your turn," he says, and, lifting you up, throws you onto your bed. He kneels at the edge of it and spreads your legs, slipping between them. He kisses and sucks a bruise into the inside of your thigh as he watches you carefully.

"Need you to taste me," you groan out, and he smirks against your skin.

"Isn't that what I'm doing?" he asks you coyly. You know he's just teasing you, and he's loving your reaction to it. You groan.

"I want you to eat me out, Tucker, _please_ ," you moan. "I need to feel your lips on me."

"As you wish," he murmurs lowly as he leans down and licks a stripe up your slit. Your head falls back against a pillow as you let out a moan.

He fucks his tongue into your center, his nose brushing your clit as he does so. When people take a look at Lance Tucker, they probably don't realize he loves giving head as much as he does. He had told you once upon a time that it was one of his favorite sexual acts, and after sleeping with him the first few times, you realized it was totally not a lie. He loved doing it and was fucking excellent at it.

You knew he'd slept with a lot of girls, so it was no surprise that he was good at it, but it wasn't the experience that made him so fucking good at it -- it was because he loved doing it, and you could totally tell. He always put everything he had into it and you were so very thankful for it.

"Clit...need you on my clit, please," you start to beg him, which makes him grow impossibly harder. "And fuck me with your fingers. Please."

He nods and, as his lips move to wrap around your bundle of nerves, he inserts two of his thick fingers into your heat. Thrusting them in and out of you, he sucks on your clit. When he quirks his fingers to rub deliciously against your g-spot, you let out a loud whimper. He's letting out loud groans and moans while going down on you, and you can tell he's loving this just as much as you are.

He drags his knuckles against your inner walls and you're so very close to the edge. You know it's not going to take very long to push you over the edge of it, and you're growing tighter around his fingers. Without taking his mouth off you, he murmurs, "Come for me, sweetheart. I can tell you're close."

It seems as though his permission was all you were waiting for, and it only takes a couple more seconds for you to come around him. You let out what you would classify as a scream as you come around his fingers, and you come so hard that you gush onto his face. You're not sure you've ever actually squirted before and are kind of embarrassed by it. He just looks up at you, mirth dancing in his eyes.

"God, that's so fucking hot," he says as he tears his lips away from you, his fingers still massaging your inner walls. He finger-fucks you through your orgasm and you are feeling absolutely amazing.

"Tucker, I want your cock," you whine as he's still fucking his fingers inside of you. He chuckles at that, withdrawing from you and leaning into your nightstand to pull out a foil packet. He rips it open with his teeth and rolls the condom down on his cock, motioning for you to move over.

"I want you to ride me, sugar," he says, watching you carefully. "Please."

You move so he's lying down on the bed on his back, and you straddle his hips as you grasp his cock so you can slide onto it. Once you're fully seated on him, his hips flush against your center, you pause to give yourself a moment to adjust to his size.

"Fuck, kitten, you're so tight around me," he moans out. You start to ride him slowly, sliding up and down his cock. You reach out and place your hands on his chest, giving yourself leverage to move on him a little more gracefully, and he licks his lips as he looks deep into your eyes.

You close your eyes as your head falls back, and you get lost in the sensation. He feels so terrific inside of you, and you want to savor the feeling. You start to ride him a little more roughly and can feel your orgasm sneaking up on you. You know it isn't going to be much longer before you come around him.

"I can feel you're close," he murmurs after a moment. "Are you gonna come for me?"

"So, so close," you moan out. "Just a little bit more..."

When your voice trails off, he flips you over so you're on your back and he hoists your legs over his shoulders. He leans down and starts kissing one of your ankles as he thrusts into you harder and faster. As his thrusts start getting sloppy, you reach down and start to finger your clit.

"Gonna come," you moan, and he leans down to give you a kiss.

"Come on, sugar, come for me. I wanna feel it," he purrs, and you can't help it, you come around his cock. He groans at that.

"So fucking good," he groans out. "Shit, it feels so goddamned good."

His thrusts are getting sloppier and you know that he's not that far away from his own end, so you capture his lips with yours. Once you break apart, you look directly into his eyes, saying, "C'mon, Tucker. Come for me. I want you to."

Your talking seems to spur him on because it isn't more than a moment or two before his body tenses up and he comes inside the condom. He takes a few moments, trying to get his breath back, before he slides out of you.

Removing the condom, he ties it off and throws it in the trash bin you keep by the nightstand and pushes you over just a bit so he can snuggle you from behind. As he wraps his arms around your stomach, he asks you, "You mind if I stay tonight?"

You're getting sleepy as the two of you lie there, but you manage to nod. "Yeah," you answer him, your eyelids getting droopy. "Go ahead."

It isn't long before the both of you are fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is kind of short, but it felt like a good place to end it. There's also no smut, which is unusual for me and Lance Tucker, but it just felt right. Also, I'm sorry if Lance is a little out of character. I've been struggling with writing him just right.
> 
> Comments and con/crit would be greatly appreciated.

Your boss loved the sketches you did for the comic book, and had given you not only a longer contract, but a bonus for them. When she had asked you to do the sketches, it was a preliminary thing, but when she actually looked at them, she decided that she needed to hire you for long-term. 

You were ecstatic.

When Lance showed up at your apartment on Monday night, you had been sitting on the couch, your feet on the coffee table and your sketchbook balanced precariously on your knees. Your face was twisted in concentration, your tongue poking out of your mouth just slightly. Lance had always thought you looked adorable whenever you did that.

He came through the front door without knocking, which didn't faze you in the slightest. You didn't even pay attention to the sound of your door opening anymore.

"Hey, sweetness," Lance says, and even though he had made a noise coming through the front door and the fact that his boots always made a _thump_ , _thump_ noise when he walked across the hardwood floor, it was his voice that made you jump. When you look up at him, he chuckles and then presses a kiss to your cheek.

"What's that for?" you ask him curiously. You weren't sure if Lance wanted something from you, but he didn't use that kiss on the cheek move very often. "Is there something you want?"

"Kind of," he admitted. "There's a gala I'm going to on Saturday night. It's a fundraiser for the rec center." He knew he wouldn't have to explain that one to you; a rec center had been where Lance had gone to his first gymnastics class all those years ago and he felt that they were incredibly important and would do anything he could to make sure they could help more kids athletically.

You nod, waiting for the sales pitch, although you already knew where this was going.

"I'd like you to go with me," he said, watching your eyes with his stormy ones. "If you want. I think it would be really nice for us to go out and do something, and I've had these tickets forever."

"If you've had them for so long, then why am I _just now_ hearing about it?"

He knew you wouldn't believe him if he told you the truth, and the truth was this: he had wanted to ask you to the gala for months, but he was scared. Chickenshit was the phrase that Monica, his assistant, had used, and honestly, it wasn't that far off from the truth.

You and Lance had been best friends since college but had grown especially close the last few years. He had realized how deep he was in about a year before you started sleeping together but knew you probably wouldn't want to date a guy like him. Even though you were his best friend, you were so much more than that; you'd been his rock for a long time, whether or not you knew it, and you'd always been there for him no matter how much of a douche he'd been or whatever jackass move he'd made.

And he'd been there for you. Even though a lot of people didn't understand the type of relationship the two of you had, you playfully flirting with each other for years, he had been there for you. He'd been there while you were stressed out and skipping meals and needed someone to force you to take care of yourself; he'd been there when you got your heart broken and needed to cry on someone's shoulder and have someone reassure you of what a great girl you were while threatening the guy's life. He'd been there for you through thick and thin and somehow, somewhere along the line, it'd turned into love.

And Lance Tucker didn't think he would _ever_ fall in love. He had one-night stand after one-night stand, and had been satisfied with it, but then came the day he was sick of them.

It wasn't that he was sick of one-night stands, not exactly. He was mostly tired of having to work for it, and you had mentioned on several occasions how you didn't want to date anymore because you were not only focusing on your career, but every single guy that was interested in you had been douchebags.

And Lance had been one, but the difference was he already knew it. Even when he just fucked around, Lance never tried to pretend that he was something that he wasn't. You always knew exactly where you stood with him.

"Well, Tucker?" you ask, snapping him from his thoughts. "Are you ever gonna tell me?"

"Sorry," he apologized and took a seat beside you on the couch as you continued your sketching. "Just got caught up in my own head."

"So, tell me," you said conversationally. "Why am I just now hearing about this gala?"

"So, when I bought the tickets, I bought two, because I knew back then I wanted to take someone," he explained. You nod, so he decided to continue, "I mean, a gala isn't any fun if you go by yourself."

You laughed at that, and when he looked at you, confusion etched on his features, you roll your eyes. "I guess it would be if you're just there for a hook-up, huh, Tucker?"

He laughed at the face you made before shrugging and saying, "Sure. If you think about it like that. And Monica was going to go with me, but then she started dating someone and he's going to the gala, so she said she'd go with him. You know there isn't anything between Mon and me, anyway."

You nod, "Yeah, I know."

Considering Lance's reputation, a lot of people think there is something going on between himself and his assistant. You'd actually met Monica; she's a sweet girl who does a lot for Lance, and you'd been in the gym several times, so you'd met her. She's sweet with a wicked sense of humor and had also been an athlete several years ago, but a torn ACL ended her career early. She still loved being in the gym and that's when Lance hired her on. They had been together for the last five years.

"The truth is, Y/N," he says, watching you closely, his storm blue eyes gazing into yours, "I want you to come with me. I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you to accompany me for weeks."

"Courage?" you ask him. You watch him intently as you continue, "What do you mean, courage?"

He lets out a huff of air. "Well, Y/N, the thing is, I like you. I really like you. You might even say that I love you."

"I love you, too, Tucker," you say, and you don't understand why he's making such a big deal out of it. Saying 'I love you' to Lance Tucker is as easy as breathing, and this isn't the first time either of you had said it to each other.

He just shakes his head, frowning. "You don't understand, baby," he says, watching you closely. "I mean, I _love_ you. I'm _in love with you_."

Your brow furrows as you say, "What? You wanna try that again?"

"Look, Y/N, I know we're friends, and I know we've been friends since college, and we've been through a lot together. But a while back I started noticing things about you, like how beautiful you were and how much I love your laugh. That's when I realized it. I've been in love with you for a long time. Years, probably. And I would very much like to take you on a date."

You take a deep breath, watching him closely. He's getting ready to jump onto his feet so he can leave when you reject him, but to both his confusion and his surprise, you don't. "Okay," you say. "You want this gala to be our first date, Tuck?"

Silently, he just nods.

"You better be pulling out all the stops, then," you say, a smirk on your face. "I expect it."

"Don't worry about it, Y/N," he says to you. "It's going to be great."

***

"This is going to be awful," you moan as Monica is helping you try to find just the right dress to wear to the gala. "Why the hell did I even agree to do this, anyway?"

"Because the two of you have been in love with each other for years, and frankly, I'm getting sick of watching it," Monica said to you matter-of-factly. "Lance watches you with stars in his eyes and it would be sweet, if I didn't also realize that he's partly eye-fucking you while he's doing it."

You roll your eyes. You'd known Monica a long time and really do like her, but there is one way she's exactly like her employer; Monica always lets her opinion be known. If she's thinking it, she's gonna say it. She doesn't exactly have tact, and she really doesn't care if she offends anyone, not if it's the truth.

That's when you found _the one_. It was a sleeveless, floor-length gown with a cowl neck that was in a navy blue. It was gorgeous, and you fell in love with it right away. When you'd decided to try it on, it fit perfectly. You could totally feel like Cinderella in this dress.

You came out of the fitting room to model it for Monica. You had a rule; you never bought any outfit that Monica vetoed. She said it looked terrible, you didn't buy it, end of discussion. You'd always been the nerdy artist, but you were a complete tomboy and knew next to nothing about fashion, so you always referred to Monica's opinion.

While she'd been an athlete, Monica was the perfect mix of girly and tomboyish and it had been a surprise that she'd been single for as long as she had. She felt just at home in a fancy dress as she did on your couch, binge-watching horror movies with you and Lance.

"It's gorgeous, sweetie," Monica said, her eyes softening as she brushed some of her dark blonde curls out of her eyes. "I love it, and it looks amazing on you. Lance isn't even gonna know what to say. It's going to blow him away completely."

You smile softly. "Really?" you ask hopefully. "You think so?"

She nods, her green eyes just dancing. "Yeah, I do. Completely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody's curious, you can see a picture of the dress I _tried_ to describe [here](https://www.renttherunway.com/shop/designers/cut_25/navy_column_gown).


	5. Chapter 5

Lance told you he'd pick you up at your apartment at seven o'clock. Several hours before he was supposed to arrive, Monica had barged her way into your apartment, along with a couple of her cousins, who Monica had said were a makeup artist and a hair stylist. It had surprised you at first, but then you just decide to roll with it.

Your hair was down around your shoulders, with curls framing your face, and your makeup was done immaculately. When you'd asked the girls if they wanted any money for their services, the two of them just shook their heads and told you that Monica had already paid them.

You knew you'd never be able to thank Monica enough for everything she was doing for you to make sure you looked perfect. You'd often fretted about your appearance, because you never felt pretty enough. Even though you and Sam were identical twins, everybody you'd ever met had always talked about how she was the prettier of the two of you. It was something that just had always stuck.

And Monica knew that.

"You look spectacular, sweetie," Monica told you as the three of them were getting ready to leave at quarter to seven. They wanted to be gone before Lance showed up. "Tonight's going to go terrifically, and remember, I want a phone call after everything. Or, if the night goes well, you can call me tomorrow."

You grinned and rolled your eyes at her anyway. "Thanks, Mon," you said to her. "I appreciate everything."

"You're absolutely welcome, sweetheart," he said, smiling at you. She ushered her cousins out of your apartment and then turned back to you. "You're totally going to knock him dead. Take my word for it."

They had been gone for almost ten minutes when Lance showed up. When you opened your apartment door, he was standing there, a bouquet of mixed flowers in his hand. Part of you was surprised.

You weren't surprised because of him bringing you flowers -- you knew Lance could be romantic if he really wanted to. No, what surprised you was that he remembered that you hated bouquets that were all the same flowers. You preferred mixed bouquets so much more because, in your opinion, they were prettier.

You had told him that so many years ago, when the two of you were still in college. You just couldn't believe he'd remembered that for so long.

You blush as he hands you the bouquet and you notice he's got a hungry look in his eye. It didn't take very long for you to realize he was blatantly checking you out.

"You look gorgeous," he practically growled. "Completely amazing."

"Thank you," you answer him as you can feel your face heating up. You can't help but notice the look he's giving you, the _eye-fucking_ , as Monica so delicately put it when you went shopping with her.

Had he really looked at you like this before?

"I'm gonna put these in water," you say, lifting up the flowers, and he nods.

And God, Lance looks _fantastic_. He's wearing a green button-down with a pair of black slacks, and he looks like it'd taken him forever to get just _perfect_. And you know Lance -- you know he'd spent forever making sure that he looked _just right_.

"You look really good, too, Lance," you say, pulling a vase out from underneath the kitchen sink and fill it with water. You place the flowers in it and go up to him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and he leans down to nuzzle your neck.

"Fuck, sweetness, you smell absolutely _amazing_ ," he groans out as his arms encircle your waist, hands going to rest on the small of your back. "And this dress on you -- goddamn, sugar, you look fucking _perfect_."

"Thanks," you say, and you know you're still blushing. You can feel your face heat up at his compliment.

"As much as I want to drag you back to your bedroom, we better get going," he says, pulling away from you. He lifts your chin with two of his fingers and places a sweet kiss on your lips, which turns into a longer kiss once you tilt your head just right so he can plunge his tongue inside your mouth.

The kiss is short lived, though, when you break apart.

"The gala, Lance, remember?" you remind him. He nods.

You don't live very far from the hotel that the gala is being held at, and when you walk inside, you aren't very sure what to do now that you were here. It was an extremely fancy place, and the gala was being held in the ballroom of the most extravagant hotel in town.

You had never really been to one of these things before. There had been several reasons for that, but the biggest one happened to be because you knew just how out of place you would feel.

Lance did his thing, talking and schmoozing and flirting, and even though you should've been jealous at that, for some reason you weren't.

This was your first date with Lance, but unlike other people, you knew him well. It wasn't like he was ignoring you, either; while he did his thing, he had you by his side, his arm possessively around your waist, and even though he should've been listening to what other people were saying to him, there were many times you noticed he was staring at you.

Once again, blatantly checking you out.

When you realized what he was doing, your cheeks would redden, but you felt flattered. You had known this man for the last ten years but had never in your wildest dreams would've thought that he actually wanted more than just sex from you.

He looked like his patience was about to snap, and you were proven right when he excused the two of you from talking to whoever you were -- hey, you couldn't be blamed, you had talked to several people and they were all starting to look alike -- and dragged you to the nearest bathroom.

He shut and locked the door and looked you up and down. "God, sweetness, I just gotta have you," he groaned out. "You look so fucking delectable; I just need to have a taste."

You feel the blush color your cheeks, but nod as he lifts you up onto the counter. He lifts your skirt up and over your hips after he pulls you towards the edge of the counter, so you're really close to him. He gets down on his knees and removes your panties, leaning in so he can inhale your scent.

"You smell so fucking sweet, sugar," he groans out. "I just need to have a taste, okay?"

You find yourself speechless right now, so you just nod. You look down at him, wondering what he was going to do next.

Wasting no time, he leans in and licks a stripe up your slit. God, his tongue feels absolutely incredible; your head falls back and thumps against the bathroom mirror as he tilts your hips so he can plunge his tongue inside your center.

He's moaning as he eats you out in earnest, his hand snaking up to caress your breast. Even through the fabric of your dress and the bra you're wearing, he manages to roll your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

God, Lance knows just how to work your body. The two of you had been sleeping together for a long time, and he knows what you like and want, and he seems to be using all of that knowledge to make you come as he works extra hard at eating you out.

You can hear the moans coming from him as you're gasping out, telling him you need his lips on your clit. You're not that far off from begging, and when he detaches his mouth from your mound, you see the smirk that's crossing his lips.

Removing his hand from your breast, he enters you with two fingers, crooking them _just right_ to rub against your g-spot. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks as he rakes his teeth against it.

Your head is leaning against the mirror, your eyes closed, and Lance is doing his best to make you come.

"Oh God, Tuck, I'm gonna come," you say as you feel the orgasm start to sneak up on you. You can feel the familiar sensation of the coil in your stomach starting to snap, and you know it's not going to take very long for you to come.

He removes his mouth from your skin, although his fingers are still inside of you, rubbing up against your inner walls, and he looks up at you with mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

"C'mon, baby," he says, and his voice is husky and quiet, barely a whisper, "come for me. I can feel how fucking close you are, and I want to feel you clench around my fingers. Come right fucking now."

You're not sure if it's the commanding tone in his voice or what, but you feel your body obey him and you tense up, your orgasm overtaking you. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to keep yourself from making a sound. Your mouth opens in a silent scream and you can feel your breath hitch.

He fingers you through the aftershocks and he couldn't resist; he leaned down to give your clit another couple of licks.

You're pushing at his head as you're feeling oversensitive. You know that Lance would make you come over and over again with his mouth if you allowed it -- you'd spent a lot of time in the sheets with his head between your legs.

"C'mon, Tuck, I want your cock," you moan as you're pushing at him. "I love it when you make me come with your mouth, but more than anything, I want to feel that thick cock inside of me. C'mon, Tucker, gimme that gold."

His eyes darken in lust as you tell him that. You didn't very often refer to his cock as _the gold_ , because you always thought it was a stupid way to talk about it, but whenever you did, it was like it awoken something in him.

He looks up at you, his pupils dilated and taking up most of the iris, as he nods. You reach into your clutch and pull out a condom; you knew, given the chance, Lance Tucker was not going to go the whole night without fucking you, and you didn't want him to, so you came prepared. You hand it to him as he gets to his feet, pulling himself out of his pants.

It takes him little time to stroke himself to hardness, even though he wasn't far from being so anyway, and then sheath himself. He leans down to kiss you as he enters you in one thrust.

You try to keep your moans down as Lance attacks your mouth with his own. You lick your own essence from his lips and groan as you taste yourself.

He doesn't start off slowly; right away, his thrusts are hard and punishing. He cups the back of your head as he kisses your mouth, and you know that this isn't soft lovemaking; no, this is the carnal need the two of you tend to have for one another.

Breaking the kiss, he leans his head into the crook of your neck, and you can feel his breath start to huff from where his head is resting. You hear the small moans he's making as he's thrusting inside of you, and you reach down in-between your bodies to rub at your clit.

It's not going to take very long for you to fall over the edge. You know that you're close, and while one hand is toying with your clit, the other grasps the back of his hair and he lets out a moan as you pull his head up to kiss you once again.

You know you're not quiet when you come, and you want him to smother your screams.

Your walls tighten around him as you come, the noise from your mouth muffled as you do so, and it doesn't take much time for him to follow you, the clenching of your cunt pulling him over the edge with you.

Giving you time to breathe after he withdraws from you, pulling the condom off, tying it off and throwing it in the trash bin. He leans down to give you a sweet kiss on your lips and you take a few moments to breathe, your chest heaving.

He gives you a few moments to recover and then he pulls you to your feet. He tucks himself back into his pants as you lean in to dust the dirt from his knees so he'll look presentable once again.

He leans down to capture your lips once again, and you melt into his kiss. His lips feel so good against yours, so warm and soft, and you wrap your arms around his neck. Leaning into his kiss, you love the way his body feels against your own.

Breaking the kiss, you take a few breaths before he offers you his arm. "How about we go back to the party, sweetheart?" he asks you. You smile, nod, and then take his arm as you follow him out of the bathroom.

It isn't until you get back to the ballroom that you realize he never gave you your panties back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take requests at my [tumblr](http://oneshotsbygabby.tumblr.com/).


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